"I wonder if he's Gifted," the wizard-priest replied.
"Gifted?" Dahlaha sat up on her chaise lounge, her expression alarmed. "Is that possible?"
"Of course it's possible." Varnaythus grimaced. "He's a Sothōii. Whatever they may have degenerated into since, they're descended from the oldest, highest noble families of the Empire of Ottovar. Some of them probably have traces of Ottovar and Gwynytha's blood in their veins even today. Most of the surviving wizard lords of Kontovar are descended from exactly the same source, for Phrobus' sake. The Art is bred into their bone and blood, Dahlaha. It's our good fortune that their ancestors turned so completely against all forms of wizardry after their escape to Norfressa. There's a very good chance Trisu's bloodline carries the Gift, but there's virtually no chance at all of his knowing it. Still, if it's strong enough, he might well have at least a touch of True Sight. In which case he probably recognizes that there's something hidden behind your outward appearance. There's no way he could know what, not without a great deal of training he can't possibly have had. But many people who possess instinctive True Sight rely on it even if they don't know exactly what it is." He shrugged. "Most of them simply assume that they have unusually accurate 'hunches' and let it go at that."
"You never suggested he might have any abilities like that!"
"I don't recall your ever having asked me what abilities he might have," Varnaythus replied coolly. "As you've pointed out to me several times, this end of the operation is yours-yours and your Lady's. I assumed that if you'd had any reason to believe you needed my assistance, you would have asked for it."
Dahlaha glared at him, obviously looking for a fresh line of attack, but his defense was unassailable. The Lorham and Kalatha portions of the master plan to destabilize the Kingdom of the Sothōii and return it to the Time of Troubles were, indeed, her responsibility.
"Very well," she huffed finally, "be that way. But at least tell me this-is this untrained Gift of his likely to see through Triahm's role playing?"
"It probably already has," Varnaythus said calmly. "Luckily for us, even if he were trained, he wouldn't be able to read minds. He's not a mage, Dahlaha. I'm sure he realized long ago that his dear cousin Triahm hates his guts and resents the fact that a man ten years younger than he is inherited the title he wants so badly. Trisu doesn't trust Triahm as far as he could throw a courser, but aside from helping to confirm that his general suspicions are justified, the True Sight won't help him anywhere else. Although, it's possible that the combination of his distrust for Triahm and any True Sight he might possess could explain why he should have taken his cousin's mistress in such dislike." He flicked one hand in a throwing-away gesture. "On the other hand, does it really matter? Do you really care how much Trisu may dislike you? I mean, you're planning on having the man killed, Dahlaha, so what does it matter if he doesn't particularly care for you?"
"It doesn't matter at all," she said, "except that the eye he keeps on me has prevented me from infiltrating his household the way I managed at Kalatha. I haven't cared to take too many chances, so I've been unable to eliminate or tamper with people like Salthan."
"There's not really any need to put Salthan out of the way," Varnaythus said after a brief consideration. "Or, rather, we can let Triahm deal with it once Trisu's dead. That's the beauty of it. We didn't have to change anything at this end."
"I know. I'd still feel better if I had more positive control of the situation, though."
"There's never any such thing as too much control," Varnaythus agreed. "Still, it sounds as if you have things in hand. What truly matters is goading the war maids into providing the proper provocation, not whether or not Trisu responds to it exactly the way we want him to. After all," he leaned back with an expansive gesture and an icy smile, "when the time comes, what will count isn't what actually happened, but what everyone thinks happened."
Chapter Twenty-One
"Leeana, this is Garlahna Lorhanalfressa. She'll be your mentor during your probationary period."
Leeana saw a very young war maid, no more than six years older than she was. Garlahna was considerably shorter than Leeana, with brown hair and brown eyes. She looked as if she ought to be smiling, but at the moment her expression and body language were soberly attentive, almost brusquely businesslike. She stood at a sort of parade rest, feet slightly spread and hands clasped behind her, her attention evenly divided between Leeana and Erlis Rahnafressa. Erlis was the fair-haired, brown-eyed Commander of One Hundred-roughly equivalent to the rank of captain in the Empire of the Axe's Royal and Imperial Army-who appeared to be in charge of training new war maid . . . recruits. At forty-three, she was a bit old for her rank, but she looked like a competent, no-nonsense sort of person. Perhaps the left arm she'd lost just above the elbow explained why she'd risen no higher in rank. She reminded Leeana a great deal of a female version of Sir Jahlahan Swordspinner.
The three of them stood in the soggy grass behind the roofed exercise salle, and Leeana felt as if she'd dressed inappropriately for a formal party. She wore the leather trousers and smock her mother had deplored with increasing frequency, yet this time she was the one who seemed dreadfully overdressed for the occasion. Erlis and Garlahna both wore the traditional war maid chari and yathu. The former was a short green kilt which fell barely to mid-thigh, and the latter was something which might have been described (in a moment of extreme charity) as a short, abbreviated-very abbreviated-bodice. But it wasn't boned and happened to be made out of fabric-lined, glove-supple leather. Whereas the main support of a regular bodice came from below, with little or no weight actually bearing on the shoulders, the yathu was equipped with buckle-adjustable shoulder straps which crossed on the wearer's shoulder blades. It was shorter, snugger, and stronger than any conventional "bodice" Leeana had ever seen. She could see where that support might come in handy, she supposed, but she hardly needed it. Not yet, at least. Garlahna, on the other hand, although shorter than Leeana, was considerably bustier, which her yathu made amply-one might almost have said abundantly-apparent.
Although Leeana had heard tales of the "licentious" and "shocking" war maid garments, she'd never actually seen them until she reached Kalatha, and she found herself somewhat in two minds about them. They certainly seemed practical enough, but still . . . The fact that both war maids were also barefoot, despite the chilly spring breeze and the muddy footing, whereas she still wore her riding boots, didn't make her feel one bit less overdressed, either.
"Garlahna, this is Leeana Hanathafressa," Erlis continued calmly, and Leeana's entire body tensed.
Her concern for anything as unimportant as what she might or might not be wearing vanished instantly, and her head twitched as it tried to whip around towards Erlis. She stopped herself in time, but it was hard, hard. It was the first time anyone had ever called her that, and the loss of her father's name hit her like an axe. Yet she'd known it was coming. Every war maid was known legally by her mother's given name, not whatever surname she might have borne before she became a war maid. It wasn't as if Leeana had a choice-she didn't-or as if she didn't love her mother or hated to be known as Hanatha's daughter. But she still felt as if in that moment, when Erlis first used her matronym, she had somehow abandoned her father, and it hurt. Perhaps it hurt even more because, in a way, some small, deeply hidden piece of her insisted that that was precisely what she had done.